Inevitable
by Kytrin
Summary: She was the Hand of the Gods. He was a former Archangel. Even the idea was blasphemous, but somehow it really was just... inevitable.


Disclaimer: I do not own Diablo3 or any of its characters except the ones I create myself.

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She should've seen it coming. Really. The signs had all been there in bright gold letters for anyone to read. But she hadn't seen them. Or read them. No, she'd only had the best, purest, of intentions in the beginning. He was a dark stranger alone, lost, suffering amnesia, and for anyone who cared to look closely enough… absolutely terrified. It was the fear that had initially motivated her beyond the bounds of her investigation and into compassion.

Who was this strange man she had found? Why had he been at the center of the falling star? Those were the questions she asked out of duty and determination to protect. It was his anguished eyes that broke her heart in ways few others would understand. She knew about loss. Oh yes. There were few in her order that did not, but she did not know of many who would understand the depths of her loss inside or outside of the monk ranks. This man did. It was written in his eyes. Etched in the scars upon his face and soul. It tore at her, and filled her with the urge to heal this stranger as she had been healed. If such a thing was possible. It wasn't always. She knew that. She'd seen the pain and loss overwhelm those without the strength to fight it. However, she sensed that this one was a warrior in the truest sense of the term. That his will was greater than any she'd ever met before. She could not let such will suffer.

So she had gone to him.

It had been on a pretense of course. She'd offered to check his healing wounds one evening after a hard day of battle. The town healer had been busy with an influx of wounded soldiers. A true enough story as it went. Monks didn't lie after all. The gods detested liars. It had not been the whole truth though. She'd wanted to find out more about him.

It was a motivation she'd tried to keep hidden from him, but the wry upward twist at the corners of his mouth, and the glimmer of amusement in his eyes had told her she hadn't done as good a job with it as she'd thought. Still, he'd nodded and shrugged off his gray robe so she could inspect his bandages.

"You're taking a great chance you know." He'd commented quietly after a few minutes of silence, and turned to look at her out of the corner of his eyes, "For all you know I am an enemy."

It was a fair statement. And a possibility she'd considered herself. She knew the legends of the wanderer who had become Diablo after all. But…

"No." She replied just as quietly, but firmly, and met his eyes, "I do not believe you are." She cocked her head and studied him gravely, "I admit I considered the possibility when I first found you. But Magda's actions with your sword fragments have proven that to be false." Her own lips twitched at his arched eyebrow, "Were you truly evil there would be no need for this elaborate ruse. If you wanted New Tristram you could've taken it after we brought you back." She studied him, "You probably could've taken it at any time."

The stranger seemed to consider her words as she worked, "What if I am evil and we simply don't know it?" He asked after a moment, "I cannot remember anything."

She almost had to grin at that, "No." She replied again, "I am a monk stranger. I have been trained most of my life to learn and understand energy and auras that I may better hear the gods." She laid her hand over his heart, "I know an evil aura when I feel it. Yours is not evil."

"What is it then?" The words were whispered with so much hope and anxiety that it was all she could do not to pull him into her arms and let him weep out his pain.

"I do not know." She replied honestly, "It is like nothing I have ever felt before." She met his eyes, "But it is something good. I can tell you that much."

Actually, good didn't even begin to describe the feeling she got from him. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to articulate the sensation of profound strength, enduring nobility, courage beyond description, and power the likes of which she'd never encountered before. Not even the many gods of Sanctuary had ever affected her so. A terrifying thought in many ways. One she was as incapable of expressing as she was telling him what she felt in his aura. Still, the words seemed to have comforted him some anyway. His expression relaxed a little, and took on a sense of peace. It seemed he trusted her enough to believe her, and that pleased her. She finished her work and bade him goodnight with no idea of how close to the truth she really was.

Suffice to say she was shocked to the core when she found out the truth.

She'd told Kormac that it was her iron willed convictions that saw her face every battle, and survive it. A truth perhaps, but she knew in her heart that it wasn't the only reason. She was furious with Magda for her attempts to capture the stranger's sword. She was outraged at the pain and suffering these peaceful people were being forced to endure _again_. They were good people. They did not deserve to suffer so. She took her duties as a monk very seriously, and it showed in every action she took and word she spoke. But even those reasons were not the whole reason if she were to be honest with herself.

It was the stranger.

It had been several days since their first tentative conversation. There had been many others since, and she'd grown to need them almost as much as she needed Kormac's steady presence at her back. Granted, they weren't always in words. There were times she came back beaten, bloody, and stumbling with exhaustion. Those times Kormac had whisked her into bed quickly enough so she could be healed, but it was the stranger who watched over her and tended her as the healer's magic did its work. In those times she was often too tired to speak, but he didn't seem to mind. He simply stayed with her and made sure she was comfortable. Those quiet actions served as a much needed reminder that the compassion and humanity she was fighting for was not lost. Not yet.

It was only later she'd understood just how precious those moments were.

She'd suddenly understood just how the Barbarians must have felt with all their pent up rage when Deckard Cain was killed and the stranger taken. Her fury had taken her at first, and it had taken every ounce of self-control to re-center herself. But even that had not fully quelled her outrage. What had followed had been a blur of blood and death as she'd feverishly fought her way back to the stranger's side like an avenging angel. How dare Magda kill an innocent old man? How dare she kidnap the man she'd begun to look upon as a friend? Few knew just how dangerous monks could be when protecting, or avenging, those they cared about.

Later she'd only been able to gape when she'd found out the stranger really _was_ one. An angel that is. An archangel no less. The great Tyrael whispered about in legend. And… he was mortal. That realization alone had been enough to stun her. She knew little of the heavenly beings that watched over Sanctuary and their ways, but she did know that never had there been one that had become mortal. It was both intriguing and terrifying.

She still remembered their first conversation alone after he regained his memory…

"So… you are an archangel?"

Tyrael had looked at her with a small, infinitely sad, smile and shook his head, "I was. I am no longer."

It was their first night on the road to Caldeum after Cain's funeral. They'd elected to share two tents, and she'd been secretly glad to give Leah some time alone to mourn her uncle. It would give her a chance to talk to the man who had become her friend, and now was one of her most powerful allies.

She dropped comfortably to the floor next to him, "Maybe that is true in the eyes of your brethren," She told him quietly, "But everything I have seen tells me that you yet embody the principles that led to your willing fall." She cocked her head at him, "I admire your courage Tyrael."

She wasn't sure why, but something in what she'd said clearly surprised him, and she couldn't help a small wry grin curling at her mouth in response. It was a grin the former angel answered with one of his own.

"You are a surprising woman." He told her, "Most tend to fear me. Those that do not have much to say about my traits. Generally it is not complimentary." His small grin twitched into a wry smirk, "There are reasons I am considered something of a rebel after all. The rest have admired many of my traits." He eyed her curiously in a way that made her want to shift so he could study her at his leisure, but she immediately squashed the ridiculous urge, "I have never had anyone admire me for my courage though. It is… an interesting change."

She'd just chuckled at him, "I serve a thousand and one gods Tyrael. Some are more powerful than others, but all are gods. I do not view the world as most mortals do."

"No, you don't." The other acknowledged, and eyed her with a flicker of hope, "Perhaps then… you would consider doing me a personal favor?"

She was sure that her eyebrows had shot up to the top of her head in surprise. What could this ancient and powerful being possibly want from her? But she did not say that. Instead she simply nodded, "If it is within my power I will do all I can." She pledged, "What is it you need?"

It was rare to see an obviously battle hardened warrior blush about much of anything. The sight of it on the former angel was at once hilarious and utterly adorable. Though she figured she probably should not tell him that. At least not right then. Perhaps later. When he had a greater understanding of human humor and teasing.

"I… am new to this mortal form." He admitted uncomfortably, squirming like a naughty boy about to get punished, "Before I had my memory back I was able to scrape by. But now… it's different." She bit her tongue to keep from laughing as his discomfort increased by noticeable levels. Gods he really was adorable! "Now I remember the difference, and things I was able to ignore before I no longer can. They are things I don't understand."

Her amusement at his expense faded enough for her to give him an understanding look, "Of course." She told him gently, "You may ask anything you wish and I will do my best to explain." She eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, "Though there are some things you should probably speak of to Kormac instead. He is a man, and as such will be able to tell you what it is to_ be_ a man."

She was pleased when Tyrael nodded thoughtfully. It was nice to know he sought her advice and trusted her judgment so well. A warm spark blossomed in her chest as they continued to talk.

What followed over the next few weeks was alternately one of the funniest, most frustrating, and most enjoyable times of her life. It was true that the road was fraught with dangers of all kinds, and the travel itself was difficult, but teaching Tyrael what it was to be one of the mortals he'd fought for so many eons to defend made every bit of it worth it. Even more enjoyable were the endless philosophical, and other, discussions in the evening. She learned more about him with every conversation, and his open minded, almost innocent, astonishment at the differing views among the various humans in the caravan were refreshing. By the time they reached Caldeum they were more than just allies and friends. They had become comrades with the kind of friendship that does not fade due to time or distance.

She still wasn't entirely sure how she wound up in his bed.

It had been a particularly harsh day of fighting without much perceivable gain, and all of it spent out in the scorching desert in full armor. By the time they'd all met up again they were all exhausted. There had been little conversation as they'd gotten healed and eaten, but afterwards she'd felt a post battle restlessness begin to stir. It had become more and more frequent of late and the only cures were either walking, meditating, or talking.

Walking in this area was out of the question, and she knew she'd never sit still enough to meditate at this point, so she'd gone in search of someone to talk to. The search had led her to his door, and he'd let her in with enough speed to tell her she was not the only one feeling restless.

"What troubles you my friend?" She'd asked innocently enough once he'd served her something to drink. He'd simply sighed and shook his head in frustration.

"I don't know." He told her, "I feel a need inside myself for something, but I don't know what or why."

"I can certainly understand that." She replied, and heard herself begin a discussion on what they'd done that day and speculation about where Magda could be hiding, but it was a discussion she only half listened to. She was far too distracted.

At first she'd thought it was still her battle reflexes humming as she was acutely aware of every little detail about him. But then she'd begun to realize that her awareness was not clinical. He was… handsome. Not in a traditional sense perhaps, but everything about him whispered to her most basic of instincts, and it was with some shock that she realized just how much she wanted him. It both frightened and thrilled her. He radiated quiet power that drew everyone in its vicinity to him. Including her. Especially her. Her eyes lingered on his lips and she was seized by the irrational urge to find out what they tasted like. Surely they would be electric. That urge was followed by one to run her hands over the planes of his chest and back the way she had when she'd tended his wounds back in New Tristram.

She wanted to feel him against her. Wanted to feel his calloused hands caress her body. The desire for it was so powerful she was throbbing with it, and before she could stop herself she closed the distance between them and pulled him into a heated kiss.

Naturally, he didn't respond.

It took her all of two seconds to realize her error. He was an angel turned mortal. He might not even know what desire was. Embarrassed beyond belief she'd begun to pull away when he suddenly snapped his arms around her and pulled her to him with a groan.

"What is this?" He moaned against her neck, "What is this burning need I feel when I look upon you?"

"It is the desire to create life in the face of death." She murmured back and kissed him again, "It is love. Let me teach you how to express it."

What followed was a pleasurable scramble of tugging and pulling at sleep clothes until they were both gloriously naked. She whimpered in delight at the first brush of his hardened body against her sensitive skin and wasted no time wrapping her legs around him. He was already hard and ready for her, a fact that sent a hot surge through her as she feverishly kissed and caressed him.

There was little thought to foreplay or fineness. This was a raw primal need and she couldn't deny herself any longer. In one smooth motion she reared up and sank down on his thick length with a strangled cry of pure ecstasy. Oh gods yes! This was what she needed! Him hot, and hard, and throbbing, and caressing every single inch of her insides with a friction that drove her wild. She whimpered encouragingly at him as she began to ride him, and was rewarded with him bucking against her with a strangled scream of his own.

She quickly lost track of how long they made love. It felt like hours. It didn't take him long to pick up what she was teaching, and before long her world had shrunk to him, and the earth shattering pleasure he was pulling from her. She couldn't even keep track of how often she came. In her pleasure filled mind it was all one long orgasm. Certainly she felt him bathe her insides with his seed more than once. Angels had incredible stamina! But eventually they both collapsed in a heap of whimpering satiation.

Without even asking he cleaned them both up with hands that shook slightly and pulled her into his arms. In the back of her mind she knew she shouldn't be there. It was probably some form of blasphemy to do what they'd done, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Here was where she felt safest, and here was where she intended to stay consequences be damned. Maybe there would be a time when he became an angel again and left for the heavens once more, but until then he was her scarred stranger and she had no intention of letting him go. He was far too precious to her, and now knew that he had been from the moment she'd offered to change his bandages.

Yes, she really should've seen this coming.

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And that wraps up the little plot that would not leave me alone! I've dabbled with most of the classes in Diablo3 by now, but there was just something about the dynamic between Tyrael and the female monk that gave me this idea. Actually, it was more like the idea clobbered me over the head and demanded I write it out…

Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed! I may write up other little one shots like this as I play the game and inspiration hits. Either way thank you for reading, and please be kind enough to leave a review. I enjoy knowing what others think of my work good or bad. :)


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